Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3)

by Carrie Summers

  Storms, but she was beautiful.

  I slid through the door, pulled it quietly shut, and laid her tray on the table. She didn’t move or look up as I padded the remaining distance to stand beside her. Looking down at the top of her head, I felt abruptly shy. Should I disturb her? In the days we’d stayed here together, she’d risen long before dawn and moved to the table to focus her aura-sight. Sometimes she held the black-iron rod she’d apprehended from the ferro mages, and sometimes she worked with nothing on the table before her.

  I understood little about her magic, but I was trying. I wanted to help her advance her knowledge. More, I was desperate to protect her. She’d experienced many strange—and frightening—effects of her spiritism during the battle for Jaliss. Unfortunately, spiritism had been outlawed in the Empire for decades, so finding teachers was nearly impossible. Those she had met, like Falla, had little ability to teach her beyond what she’d already discovered. Savra needed to be her own instructor, a difficult challenge.

  My gaze flicked to her bracelet. There was one other person who could help her: Lilik, a woman whose spirit had been trapped inside the silver and gold band for centuries. The woman’s husband dwelt within the jewelry as well. Savra had been shy to tell me of her companions, and I didn’t really blame her. It had to be strange to have other souls so near. Lately, my opinion of Lilk and Raav had wavered between annoyance and discomfort because Lilik had closed herself off. She ignored most of Savra’s attempts at conversation, and when she didn’t, her responses were curt. Cold, in some cases. It worried Savra, enough that I’d started to wonder why she still wore the bracelet.

  I realized my fingers were tapping nervously against my thigh, and I clenched my fist. I didn’t need to be anxious around this woman. But she amazed me, and I couldn’t help feeling like I couldn’t match her strengths. At the very least, I felt as if I shouldn’t bother her while she swam through magical seas I could scarcely understand.

  But she needed to eat. I fortified myself with that excuse as I brushed her hair back from her cheek, leaned down, and kissed it gently.

  Savra’s eyes fluttered open. She turned to me with a smile that banished my insecurities. For a moment, nothing existed beyond the walls of the Graybranch Inn. No city in shambles, no fears of more Riftspawn swarming from chasms, no landscape in ruins after Havialo’s destruction. There was only the quiet warmth of the small room and another person who, by some miracle, wished to share it with me.

  “Welcome back,” she said. “How is Vaness?”

  “Very serious about her tasks. If it were anyone else, I’d force her to ease up. But it’s just the way she is. I always thought she’d make the best ruler from among us.”

  “She probably thought the same about you.”

  “That’s what she claims, but I find it hard to believe her.”

  Yawning, Savra gathered her auburn hair in a clump behind her neck then split the tresses and began weaving them into a braid. Her fingers worked with a nimbleness I couldn’t fathom, though to be fair, my hair had never been longer than a finger’s length. I supposed years of practice could even teach someone like me the art of it.

  When her braid was finished, she slid the breakfast tray close. I rounded the table and sat opposite, content to watch her eat.

  “Have you had breakfast?” she asked.

  “I did, but the fare was not nearly so fine.” I smirked at the array of offerings on her tray. A small saucer held candied fruit, a teapot steamed beside a cup, and in the center of the tray, a tart had been smothered in clotted cream and dotted with berries.

  “Oh?” Remarkably, her innocent tone wasn’t even feigned. “What did you have?”

  “Porridge. Though there was a pat of butter melted into it.”

  Savra laughed. “I guess we know which guest is Fishel’s favorite.”

  “Maybe I should be proud that he considers me humble enough for simple food.”

  She inspected the tart from different angles as if deciding which aspect looked the most delicious. “I think you’re right. Would previous Emperors of Atal have been content to eat as the Provs do? I think he’s showing you that he accepts you.”

  I smiled at her as I leaned back in my chair. Once Savra decided which bite to take first, half the cream-soaked tart disappeared so quickly I felt I’d scarcely blinked. If I ate that fast, half the food would end up on my shirt. Savra hadn’t spilled a crumb.

  “Any progress with your investigations?” I asked when she paused to pour a cup of tea.

  Disappointment flickered on her face. I noticed that she laid a hand over her bracelet. Lilik’s recent rebuffs had hurt her more than she admitted. “Less than I’d like. But I hope to work with Falla today.” Savra’s gaze dropped to the table while she sucked on her lower lip. “Any fresh news from the scouts?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll meet with the Prime later. I asked Vaness to help her organize more surveys.” I reached across the table and touched her forearm. “I know it’s not just Parveld you’re worried about. We’ll find your family, I swear.”

  I meant the vow, even though I wondered how I’d fulfill it. The Empire was so vast, and her parents and sister could be anywhere. But once the roads were restored and the couriers could travel quickly, we’d send messages to every town until we found them. Previous Emperors had maintained order and communication across the entire sweep of land. I could do the same.

  “My father asked me to send word to a man named Teppo on the Cosmal Peninsula. But that was before the Breaking.”

  “Once the couriers can reach the south, we’ll put a letter to Teppo in the first batch.”

  She fiddled with the end of her braid as she smiled. “I hate that I burden you with my worries. You already have so many responsibilities.”

  “And they’re much lighter because of you.” I squeezed her forearm. “I mean it.”

  She laid a hand over mine before plucking her fork from her tray. Another large portion of the tart disappeared, but after a moment, she sat back, defeated. “I’m afraid I’ll be too heavy to move if I finish it.”

  I smirked. “Maybe Fishel enjoys your presence so much he doesn’t want you capable of leaving.”

  She sighed and laid a hand on her stomach and picked up her tea. “I should beware his tricks.”

  “So,” I said, glancing toward the window and the wooden shades locked across it. I felt the blush in my cheeks, my shyness suddenly returned. “I need to meet with the Prime late this morning. But seeing as she’s not here yet…”

  The corner of Savra’s mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. She set down her teacup. “I think the rest of my tea can wait.”

  I stood and helped her from her chair. She sank into my arms, and I brushed stray hairs from her face before lowering my lips to hers.

  Chapter Three

  Savra

  Cathedral of the dead

  THE BLACK-IRON rod of the ferro mages dug into my palm, ridges cutting across my calluses, the coolness of the metal dissipating the longer I clutched it. My anchor to the mortal realm, the rod was the only changeless thing in the shifting halls of the dead. If I lost it, my spirit might remain here, trapped beyond the veil for eternity.

  I wished I could tie it to my arm.

  Around me, heavy pillars and buttresses supported a shadowy, arched ceiling. Black stains ran down the oppressive gray walls. A stream of the dead wandered this area of the labyrinth. More phantom than real, the beings formed of mist and shadows paid me little heed unless I focused my attention on them. I spotted a pair drifting together. They spoke in low tones so muted I couldn’t make out the words. As I pressed my awareness against them, the shifting light congealed into human forms. Features emerged from the darkness. As our contact solidified, one of them jerked and grabbed her companion’s arm.

  “I’m sorry to surprise you,” I said gently. I’d learned that I appeared as ethereal to the dead as they did to me until I formed a bon
d.

  The woman had a careworn face fixed in a contented expression while the man was younger, clad in a simple woodsman’s tunic sprinkled with sawdust. I wondered whether they were husband and wife. Men often died young in the logging camps of Guralan Province. Perhaps she’d outlived him by a few decades.

  “We’ve heard of you,” she said. “Savra. Thank you for saving so many.”

  I swallowed and gripped the rod tighter. Though I’d spared many lives by stopping Steelhold’s fall, there were still far too many fresh spirits in the dead’s realm. More would soon arrive unless I could find information about the Maelstrom’s rift and the failing seal. I didn’t know how we would save the Empire given what we knew. Parveld had been a student of the ancient rifts, but he was lost to us. Missing, and possibly mad. And since the battle for Jaliss, Lilik had been so reserved and cold that I was afraid to speak to her.

  “I’m looking for someone with knowledge of spiritism,” I said. “I need a teacher.”

  “We heard. And you wish to find out the secrets of the wardstones and Maelstrom. So many questions,” the man said. He showed his palms in apology. “We’re simple people, unfortunately. We mostly keep to ourselves.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  I turned to go, but the woman stepped in front of me. “One other thing. My—I am newly arrived, or…” Her brow furrowed. “Or so it seems. Time is difficult.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, unsure whether condolences were appropriate.

  Her lips turned up in a melancholy smile. “Don’t be. I’m reunited with my love. But our daughter still lives in Bellows. In Guralan Province. Don’t let her die young like her father did. Her name’s Delsha.”

  “Delsha,” I repeated. “We’re scouting the roads now. As soon as we’re in contact with Guralan, I’ll send word to her. If it’s safest to bring her here, I’ll make sure she has a spot on a caravan.”

  The woman’s face crumpled with relief, and her husband laid a gentle arm around her shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered before tugging her around me.

  The couple dissolved into mist. They seemed happier than most phantoms. Other spirits spoke only of their oppressed existence, painful deaths, the constant exhaustion of fulfilling their Functions. Even the Atal had lived unhappy lives, burdened by power struggles and the fear of assassination by rivals.

  Ahead, the hallway opened into a vaulted chamber. I paused and gawked at the shadowy recesses. Light lanced through unseen holes in the lofty vaults, the beams crisscrossing the darkness. I hadn’t realized I’d come so far—since grasping the rod and entering the cathedral of the dead, I felt I’d only walked for a few minutes.

  Each region within the halls reflected the emotions people had carried with them across the veil. Most of the Empire’s recently deceased had lived miserable lives. The deeper I traveled into the halls—the farther back into the generations—the mood and architecture lightened.

  I advanced through the chamber and into hallways that grew cheerier with every step. My echoing footsteps changed from heavy thudding to a merry tap-tap. Soon, I’d left the darkness behind and entered rooms filled with light and refracting crystal. The homes of our ancestors were delicate, whimsical creations. I slowed and breathed deep of the fresh air.

  The spirits here were fainter and harder to perceive. I focused on a collection of wisps. Ever so slowly, a body began to take shape. I held my breath. This was progress. Gripping the rod tighter, I clenched my eyes shut and concentrated. An image flashed to mind, a tall woman with a faraway gaze. Loose clothing whipped against her limbs as if she stood in a heavy gale. But the vision disintegrated as quickly as it had come. When I opened my eyes, the phantom had vanished.

  Sighing, I spoke to the air. “I wish to understand the wardstones. I seek the mages who pushed back the Hunger. If you can hear me, I beg you, answer.”

  I sighed. This was as deep as I’d come into the labyrinth. Farther on, the halls grew so twisted and convoluted I couldn’t make sense of them. Corridors shifted and turned back to swallow themselves. If I journeyed deeper, I’d probably never find my way back.

  But somewhere in the ancient past, there were answers. Those who’d sealed the rift in a previous millennium had to be here somewhere.

  Maybe I could go just a little farther.

  As I moved, the hall shifted around me, slowly rotating until a wall became the floor.

  Savra, Lilik said.

  I jerked in surprise—it had been so long since she’d contacted me.

  Yes?

  It’s too far. Dangerous. Especially before you figure out how to cross the veil without the rod.

  I contained a retort that I’d surely regret later. Though Lilik had been rude lately, cutting off conversations or ignoring me entirely, I couldn’t forget what she’d sacrificed to help me.

  Why would it be different without the rod?

  Because when you use a tool to open the way, your understanding of the realm is weakened.

  I rotated the rod in my hand. If she’d told me this sooner, I might have focused on learning how to cross the veil without it.

  Ahead, a faint trace of a spirit drifted toward me. I pinned my focus to it and took a step forward.

  Savra, Lilik said. I know my behavior has hurt you. But please listen. Turn around.

  When I glanced over my shoulder, a dagger of fear struck me. I didn’t recognize the shape of the corridor. Around twenty paces behind me, the hallway forked. Which passage had I entered by?

  Go back. It may resolve.

  She didn’t need to say more. With hurried steps, I dashed for the fork. As I advanced, one of the passages faded. When I recognized the corridor’s shape, I sank to my knees. Thank the clear skies, I said. And thank you, Lilik.

  No need. It’s rare that I can help you, but it’s the reason I chose this existence.

  I took a deep breath. Have I done something to upset you?

  You’ve done nothing wrong, Savra. As I said, I’m sorry for my behavior. I’ll explain, but I’m not ready yet. Soon?

  I—sure. Soon.

  Thank you for understanding. Lilik extended a thread of gratitude with her words, and immediately after, her contact vanished.

  After my near brush with getting lost, I hurried back through the labyrinth, heart thumping. Despite the sullen mood in the darker halls, I sighed in relief when I stepped beneath their heavy ceilings. When I recognized the last few turns before my exit, I slowed and strolled through the echoing corridors at a normal pace. As my gaze passed over the wandering dead, figures surfaced from the mists, hinting at their true forms before fading into shifting patterns. I nodded greetings out of politeness, but the dead didn’t seem to notice me.

  I’d nearly reached the exit, a glowing alcove formed by my connection with the rod, when I felt a solid presence at my elbow.

  I turned and smiled as a girl faded into existence. “Hello, Cartilla.”

  “I knew I’d see you if I waited here,” she said, grinning. I envied her cheeriness despite her understanding that she’d been executed at just twelve years old as punishment for her father’s crimes.

  “I don’t know how you find me,” I said. “But I’m glad.”

  “I just sense you, I guess,” Cartilla said with a shrug. “Maybe because I look forward to seeing you. The others are awfully boring.” She stuck out her lower lip and then laughed.

  “I doubt I’m much better,” I said. “Always focusing on the Maelstrom and the Hunger.”

  “Yes, but at least you don’t complain all the time. Hey, I want to show you something. Come!” She gestured with her hand, begging me to follow. I glanced toward the rod’s glowing alcove. My exit could wait a little longer.

  After a series of short hallways, Cartilla stopped in an arched doorway.

  My eyes widened. “This is beautiful, Cartilla. How did you find it?”

  Before me, a sweeping staircase descended to an onyx-floored b
allroom filled with glowing motes. Within, a handful of misty figures twirled, the floating lights chasing their movements.

  “I’m not sure. I was sitting here remembering my friends from back in—from when I was alive. I wasn’t paying attention until one of the little lights floated in front of my face. I think maybe—I think I made it.”

  “I like it,” I said. “I think they do, too.”

  She grinned at my praise. Cartilla had been a pretty girl. She had a strong frame unlike so many of the waif-like Atal women. I suspected her mother had raised her to become more than a decoration on some elite-class gentleman’s arm. Cartilla’s mother had chosen to be with Havialo out of love, not because of his status. Because he’d been a geognost, they hadn’t even been allowed to marry.

  “Have you seen your father yet?” I asked. Havialo had died with my dagger in his heart. I didn’t regret it, though I wished he hadn’t made it necessary.

  She shook her head. “But I have a message for you.” Her lips twitched in a pleased smile.

  “Oh?” I asked, brows raised.

  “It came to me like an echo.”

  “Like an echo? I don’t understand.”

  “Along the corridors. The others passed it along like a responsibility that no one wanted until finally, the words landed in my ears. I knew right away the message was for you. It said, ‘The stones magnify the nobility and truth inside us.’”

  I stiffened. The stones? Did I dare assume the message was a response to one of the questions I’d called out? “Who sent the message? Did they say?”

  “I don’t know. But the words were tangled and tumbled over one another, so I think they traveled far.”

  I gripped the ferros’ rod tighter. A message from afar. From the ancient chambers? It made sense.

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching for Cartilla’s hand and squeezing. My stomach twisted when I made physical contact with one of the dead, but it didn’t seem to bother them. “It’s helpful. Very. I should go, though. The message has given me a lot to think about.”